


Mnemophobia

by ConvictorKaruma



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, F/M, POV First Person, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-19
Updated: 2013-10-19
Packaged: 2017-12-29 20:35:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1009800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConvictorKaruma/pseuds/ConvictorKaruma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"She betrayed you, and you hate her. Me. She is me. Jonathan, I am sorry."<br/>Linda knows, she knows what she did wrong, and she knows he'll kill her, or worse for it. What does go on in that pretty little head of hers?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mnemophobia

**Author's Note:**

> I did this for a school project, but I'm very, very proud of it. And yes this is my OTP. I will ship it in Hell.

You. You meant more than you can even begin to comprehend. Intelligent, cunning, ruthless, unwavering, unforgiving, and yet gentle, kind, understanding, dedicated, and loyal. You were everything, the brains, the ideas, the science. Everything that he could never even dream of being.

Him. He was nothing. He still is nothing. He could never hope to amount to your intellect. So disrespectful to you, so unaware, and so simple. His task was something any true leader could do on his own, but he couldn’t. He ran you like sled dogs, bled you for all you were worth, there was really only one thing that made it worth it, but you don’t remember that.

Oh, you remember his disrespect, you remember how he used you, manipulated you, lied to you, kept things from you. You remember how terrible he was, and how absolutely pathetic, yet, you don’t remember being defended from him. You don’t remember how he spat in your defender’s face right in front of you, his berating to her. You don’t remember how she wanted him to show you respect, nor how much she respected and admired you. No, you don’t remember the good things anymore, the few precious moments of free time you had with her, well spent in the libraries, how she’d smile at you warmly, the amused laughter you two had shared when everyone else was asleep. You’ll never remember these things, certainly you’ve made yourself forget, or, at the very least, you never think about them, not anymore. Perhaps that is inaccurate, maybe you do occasionally allow a memory or two to surface, but your memories of this time have long since been clouded by rage and hatred for the woman you shared them with. Maybe, and this is a fool’s dream, but just maybe you do remember it as it was, and treasure those moments still. Precious moments, from a time when you had trust. When you could still care for someone, and, more importantly, when someone cared back. Not that it matters, even if you do remember it all clear as day, even if thinking about it would bring a smile to your aged, tired lips, it makes no difference, because you never let it, you never show any signs of remembering anything pleasant. No, instead you show how you remember betrayal. The backstabbing that will never quite heal up, metaphorically, or literally. That’s all you think about, on the rare occasion she crosses your mind. It consumes you, unanswered questions, a want to learn the truth behind it all, behind her actions. The pain, the sorrow, how broken the relationship was, the trust you shared, gone in an instant, your partner proved…untrustworthy. Your world, along with your shreds of sanity, consumed by a monster. A quite literal monster of her creation. That’s what comes to mind when you think of that time.

And now, it’s flooding back. You’re remembering all of it. You had tried not to, you didn’t want to relive the pain, the humiliation, the feeling of something being ripped from your grasp. Sure, the humiliation of this time pales in comparison to that you had suffered in your childhood, but it sticks with you so much more strongly. You cannot comprehend why this is, or, perhaps you won’t allow yourself to think about it. All you know is you wish none of it had happened, good or bad. You wish that your former partner could…disappear. But you know that just won’t happen, it can’t happen. She’s still around. In fact, that’s who you’re seeking out now. The one responsible for your second downfall.

She is near, and you know it, you’ve been planning this confrontation for a while now. Every day going over exactly what you have to say to her. As you walk, the feelings attached to the memories come flooding back to you. Soft, gentle smiles, trust, a light squeeze on your hands, reassuring you in a way only she ever could, “of course I believe you,” her voice was soft and tired, the voice that had become a comfort and a constant during the longer working hours. It would be a nice memory, but then you begin to think, of course she believed you. The rage is bubbling back up now, with a dangerous vengeance. She believed you, not because of any trust she had, but because she knew what was going on. She betrayed you, she was the one responsible, so of course she believed you when you said you weren’t. You had loved her. She had…loved you. You don’t believe that anymore, of course, you used to, a naïve hope, you tell yourself now. After all, had she really loved you, she wouldn’t have hurt you, she wouldn’t have used you. Love means looking out for each other, being their to help each other hold it together. And for her, you did these things, but she clearly had other plans.

You don’t understand how this could have possibly happened, either. She managed to trick you and use you. You, of all people, one of the greatest minds to have ever existed, a genius in every sense, and yet she pulled the wool over your eyes. You never would have suspected her, in fact, you know that you wouldn’t have found out on your own if not for overhearing what they said. That knowledge burns you. You had overheard her, she didn’t even bother to justify herself, either, not then, not a single time since. She just ran, slipping under the radar, and keeping out of view. She was hidden for years, and him? He moved on to new endeavors, and then there was one, you, all alone again. You convinced yourself that was as it should be.

You hardly realize how close you’re getting now, you’re on her block. Your mind is racing now, trying to tie together this information, because you know she’s here, you know that you will find her, and you can’t be distracted when you do. You’re not sure what she’s capable of, and now is not a good time to find out.

This is her door, and emotions overtake you. Confusion and frustration, because she was able to trick you, to make you the fool, admiration, as she must have been incredibly intelligent, but really, you already knew that, you had known that since before working with her, she had to be intelligent, or you would have refused. Now you’re thinking about her again, she had been more than competent, more than you could have asked for in a partner, she was considerate, helpful, always on task, and she even made you smile.

You loved her,  _loved_ , it’s in the past now, any positive feelings she gave you have been replaced with loathing. Well, that’s what you keep telling yourself, anyway, but now you’re remembering her as she was. She was, no, she  _is_  brilliant and beautiful, caring and terrifying. She had been kind to you, her smile, often a reward you didn’t know you had earned. She trusted you, and you trusted her. Your partnership, your friendship, it was something special, you never would have hurt her then. And, of course, you expected the same of her.

You’re doubting yourself now, as you ascend the stairs, can you really hurt her? A smell hits you, suddenly, it’s her perfume, this is the door to her bedroom. You remember the smell well, it had been one of the only truly pleasant smells in the dingy place you and she had made into a home and a lab. It was a very particular blend of jasmine and citrus that had always hung about her, it couldn’t take away from the pungent, acidic and nauseous smells your work created, but it made them more tolerable, and it Overscored the smell of the mold and mildew in the home itself, bringing out the sweet smell from the rot, and making the condemned building you were living in almost livable, instead of tolerable. The only smell you recall better, and thinking about it, it’s strange you don’t smell it now, is the bitter smell of the black coffee she had made to power the two of you through some of the tougher nights. You remember how she’d always bring you your cup and set it down without disturbing you. Your face is hot, and you still haven’t opened the final door. Something is stopping you.

Philia. Whether it’s residual feelings left unresolved, or if your feelings are still there in full force, you still love her. She is dear to you, regardless of what she did to you, or why she did it. You can’t forgive her, but you can’t stop loving her, either. Now that you think of it, you still don’t even have an inkling of why she did it, she never bothered to try to tell you, and even if she had, you wouldn’t have listened. You’re staring at the door handle, mind racing. You wonder, does she regret it? You don’t have the foggiest, you hardly remember how she acted, most days, because you thought if you didn’t think about it, it would go away. Clearly you were mistaken. You think, perhaps, had she sought forgiveness, maybe you could have forgiven her, but she didn’t, and now, you’re seeking her out to get closure, since at long last, you’re ready. You’re about to open the door when you recoil. Not yet.

Phobia. You’re afraid. You know your memories and emotions won’t allow you to do what your brain is so screaming for you to do. Make her pay. Make her suffer for your life’s work that she had taken and bastardized. Your knuckles are white, you remember it all now, her tragic tale, making her a kindred spirit, but she was just using you for her own selfish ends. She stripped you of your humanity. At that thought, you grip your scythe tightly in both hands. You are going to make this hurt in every way you know how. You’ll make her suffer as you did, tear her mind in two, strip her of her reasoning, become her worst nightmare. It won’t be difficult, you know her, you know what she fears. You know just how to cut deepest, and you know what you’ll say. But you’re afraid to lose her. Afraid to hurt her. It doesn’t matter now, though, it can’t. Scythe in hand, you kick down the door, and look around. The air is thick with various toxins and chemicals, as you knew it would be, but she isn’t there. You seem confused.

I’m right above you, love. You jump back as I land in front of you, locking eyes, “It’s been a long time, did you miss me?” A playful smile on my lips, I can’t help myself, I already know the answer, of course you didn’t, you couldn’t. I know you hate me, and you have every right to, I wish you didn’t, though.

Your reply is a growl, apparently, I’m not worth your words, or, I thought that, but then they come, clean, clear, and razor-sharp, “You pathetic little wretch of a woman. Unable to function on your own, you act as a parasite. You did it to me, you’re doing it to that sap you call a lover. It’s disgusting. I wouldn’t be surprised if your little lover doesn’t care for you at all, and is just waiting to abandon you, and then you’ll be all alone again, won’t you?” You waste no time cutting into my biggest insecurities. I can feel my mind reeling, you’re good at this, too good. A response won’t come. I choke, you smirk, triumphant, “No clever retort? Giving up already? Even with it being you, I expected better.”

My eyes narrow now, you know how to push a girl’s buttons, don’t you, dear, “He can leave me if he wants, I have no care about that man. You know me, you know why I refuse to be alone.”

“It keeps you awake at night, doesn’t it.”

I opt to ignore you, and go on, “So, you’re here. You must want me dead. Dead before I got my last words out, I’m sure. But, would you hear me out, before bringing the blade down upon my neck?”

“Dear, sweet little snow child, you never sought forgiveness before. Do you fear death? That’s a new one, for you. Or is it what I can do to you, hm? A fate worse than death,” You reach out your hand cruelly, a single finger extended, you know how I feel about physical contact. I shudder in fear, “Shivering already? I haven’t even laid a finger on you. How fascinating.” You’re pausing, I’ll let you finish, though I fear what you may say next, “You know what hurt more than the betrayal? Than the fact that you stripped me of my humanity? You never thanked me. Not once did you thank me. I was the catalyst for…whatever you accomplished, and you ran away.”

“You allowed me a cure, yes. I will grant that, but what right had I to come to you for anything after that? You would have chased me off, much as you’re trying to do now.” I step back, I don’t want to hurt you. You won’t believe me when I tell you how much I love you, how much I’d take back if I could, but I can’t. I know, you have no idea the respect I had, I still have. No idea how sorry I am. You won’t believe that I never once thought it’d go near as horribly for you as it did. You’re confused, I can see it, you want to know why I won’t fight.

“What’s your game.”

“I’m not playing.” I won’t bother to hide my fear from you, I know it’s pointless, you know me too well, “Do you remember when we read Shakespeare together?” Your eyes widen, too. You do remember, but you’re just angry now. I should have expected.

“Do not deign to speak to me as though we are still on equal footing. We may both be dedicated our work, but I would never stab my partner, who  _was_  my equal, my friend, in the back. Fortunately, you’re no longer any of those things. You are a far worse person than I could ever dream of being. And all for nothing, you saw the sun. And how long did it last? A month? A year? You threw away everything on a dream, a little girl’s fairytale. You disgust me. You’re not a real scientist, you’re a failure. You can’t even get results.” You’re fuming now. You must be, if you called that into question, “You’re not running, little mouse. I would, if I were you. The Doctor…is on holiday.”

Your eyes flash, a horrible sight. You’re hardly who I remember, and you’re on me. I know what this is, but I never once dreamed I’d see it myself. A sudden prick, and a burning in my spine, I don’t know if you’re after my life, or my sanity. I still don’t know what you want, but I need to tell you now, just in case, the syringe is half empty, I speak, “I never did get to explain myself to you,” you look torn about it, but you need to hear me out, it’s a question that’s been burning at you forever, “why?” You want that answer before you explain what you’ve done to me, your face has that pensive look, the one I remember so well, “I had to do it, I thought…if I succeeded, I could be happy…we…could be happy. I thought you would never find out, no one would, and it’d be swept under the rug when he was gone. You were supposed to forget, or be unaware, and stay that way, so it would never affect you. We could have lived…normally…happy…I was wrong. He made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. I should have known he wouldn’t be telling me everything, either.” Tears, I see them. You never knew, I knew it, But you’re holding back.

Your voice is firm and unwavering, “Well, you’ll have to live with that,” my heart sinks, “You knew me as well as I knew you. There was trust, it was broken. You know I don’t forgive or forget. Remember the story I told you about Shelly? You, too will suffer for what you did to me. I’ve returned you to where you belong, an outcast, unable to step outside again, as your heart beats it only becomes more true. You’ve lost what you labored so hard for, what you thew everything away for. You won’t be getting it back. I’ll make sure of it.” I know you can, and I also know this is only the beginning, but…I need you. I love you…I fear you…memories are powerful, strange things. It’s funny, though, you still never will know how much you’re worth.


End file.
